


Overheated

by ilookedback



Series: Hyggetober Challenge Ficlets [10]
Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Clothes Sharing, F/M, Male Masturbation, Yearning, lusting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:27:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26946697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ilookedback/pseuds/ilookedback
Summary: For all that Din spends his days covered entirely from head to toe, only the rarest flash of skin ever appearing at his wrist if his sleeve should ride up, the other inhabitants of his ship share no such sense of modesty. The girl seems to favor comfort over all else, and ever since she’s joined them, the baby has followed suit, stripping off his little robe whenever he feels like it, much to her amusement and Din’s chagrin. He seems to enjoy the skin to skin contact, burrowing his way under her arm to tuck against her side, or draping himself over her shoulder to press his head against her neck, or—Din has to look away, heat rising in his cheeks—crawling into her shirt to settle himself between her breasts, pillowing his face against her chest.Din can’t begrudge him for it. He thinks he’d take advantage, too, if he was small enough to fit inside her arms and be cradled close to her skin.
Relationships: The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Hyggetober Challenge Ficlets [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1952407
Comments: 3
Kudos: 80





	Overheated

**Author's Note:**

> For day 10 of my Hyggetober Ficlet Challenge, which is based off of [this prompt list](https://www.instagram.com/p/B201-j7ljdU/?igshid=1pflwcl5260me) and will span several Pedro fandoms. Today's prompt is "warmth."

For all that Din spends his days covered entirely from head to toe, only the rarest flash of skin ever appearing at his wrist if his sleeve should ride up, the other inhabitants of his ship share no such sense of modesty. The girl seems to favor comfort over all else, and ever since she’s joined them, the baby has followed suit, stripping off his little robe whenever he feels like it, much to her amusement and Din’s chagrin. He seems to enjoy the skin to skin contact, burrowing his way under her arm to tuck against her side, or draping himself over her shoulder to press his head against her neck, or—Din has to look away, heat rising in his cheeks—crawling into her shirt to settle himself between her breasts, pillowing his face against her chest.

Din can’t begrudge him for it. He thinks he’d take advantage, too, if he was small enough to fit inside her arms and be cradled close to her skin.

He thinks about it, sometimes, when he’s stripping off his armor at the end of the day and getting into bed. The ship runs cold and the bed nearly makes him shiver sometimes when he first climbs in, waiting to imbue it with his body heat. He imagines her soft warmth, feels the flat pillow against his cheek and tries to imagine it’s her breast or her belly, some tender part of her where he could lay his head and let her stroke her fingers through his hair, easing him into sleep. It’s a sweet fantasy and it’s as far as he allows himself to go—he erases her face from his mind before he slides his hand into his sleep pants, grinding pressure from his palm over his cock and tugging gently at his balls, seeking a nameless release that he tells himself has nothing to do with her. Nothing to do with the hot knowledge that she is on the level directly below him in her own separate bunk, in her own immodest sleep clothes. Nothing to do with the fact that they have been sharing the same air on this ship for months now, and it is almost claustrophobic with how close she feels after years of flying on his own.

His fingers are teasing their way under his waistband, slow and sleepy as he tries to decide if he has the energy to stroke himself off tonight, when he hears something clatter from below deck and he sits up with a jolt.

It’s probably nothing. But. He can’t afford to be less than paranoid.

He slips on his helmet, picks up the blaster kept next to his bed, and moves on silent feet out of his quarters and down the ladder to the deck below.

It’s nothing.

Not nothing. It’s her. She’s illuminated by a tiny circle of light and she’s quietly perusing the selection of rations in their small galley.

He clears his throat and takes a step forward, letting his foot fall a little heavy to alert her to his presence. She startles, but only slightly, and she recovers with an easy smile shot his way.

“I couldn’t sleep,” she offers quietly. “I thought maybe I’d have a snack.”

He steps close enough that the light picks him up and she glances him over and almost does a double take, a funny look appearing on her face as her eyes linger on his hands. He flexes his fingers self-consciously and eventually her eyes drift down to his bare feet and she smiles, raising her head to look into his visor.

“I’ve never seen you so naked,” she says, a teasing note in her voice.

He’s silent for a moment, but the late hour and the darkness surrounding them must loosen his tongue because he tells her, “I could say the same about you.”

She glances down at herself, looking at the bare stretch of her long legs down to her stocking feet. If she is wearing anything underneath her shirt, it doesn’t show below the hem brushing just at the top of her thighs.

“Sorry,” she says. “I didn’t think you’d be awake. You couldn’t sleep either?”

He doesn’t answer her. He’s too distracted by the realization that the shirt she’s wearing hits at tunic length because it’s not her shirt at all. The familiar grey fabric runs long at her wrists, too, pooling around the flare of her palms and hiding the backs of her hands.

“That’s my shirt.”

Her eyes go wide.

“Sorry!” she says again. Her voice pitches a little high, thready with what might be embarrassment at being caught. “I should have asked.”

“It’s fine,” he says. He hadn’t meant to make her feel bad, and he casts about for something to add. “I just didn’t think it would be your style.”

She laughs, a quiet, relieved breath of air. “It’s… warm,” she says. “I get cold at night. It’s nice and cozy.”

He thinks about telling her to put some pants on if she’s so cold, but he’s enjoying the view of her legs too much to suggest such a thing.

“I get cold, too,” he confesses. “We’ll pick up some more blankets next time we’re in port.”

She’s looking at him, thoughtful. “Do you?” she asks. “You seem so self-sufficient. I guess I thought you’d generate all the heat you could ever need.”

He shifts and tucks his hands into his pockets. He has spent too much time thinking about the warmth of her body to be entirely comfortable with this conversation.

“No,” he says finally.

“Well, let me know if you ever want to—” She cuts herself off and looks slightly embarrassed again. “If you ever want your shirt back,” she corrects. He wonders what she was going to say. He hesitates, trying to see if he can wait her out, but she stays silent, gazing patiently at him.

“Keep it,” he tells her, and he’s rewarded with a tiny, grateful smile. He takes a moment to memorize it, the sweet look on her face, and the way his shirt drapes over her curves, and the softness of her naked thighs. “Get some sleep,” he says, and turns to climb back up the ladder to the privacy of his own bed.

It’s difficult, this time, to imagine some nameless, faceless someone who isn’t her, when he touches himself while picturing the curve of hips and breasts under the fabric he has worn against his own skin. The intimacy of it makes him shiver, the knowledge that she has taken this piece of him into her bed, into her most private space. He feels overheated finally, for once, blankets kicked off, and he is nearly sweating and biting his lip with the effort it takes not to say her name by the time he spills into his hand.


End file.
